


on that evening.

by Oneddesire



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Drunken Kissing, Gay Richie Tozier, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Original Male Character(s) can choke, Pennywise (IT) is His Own Warning, Rape is what it is really we call it what it is, Rape/Non-con Elements, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier Needs a Hug, Richie Tozier goes to a bar, Richie Tozier is Bad at Feelings, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Suppression Sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22388329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oneddesire/pseuds/Oneddesire
Summary: instead of going to the library immediately after stopping by the synagogue, richie goes to a bar, gets drunk and faces all of his demons at ones.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough & Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier/Original Male Character(s), The Losers Club & Richie Tozier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 60





	on that evening.

Richie Tozier built walls for a reason. To keep people **out**. ****

He has spent the last 27 years strengthening, sealing and soundproofing those damn walls and it took Eddie Kaspbrak less than a millisecond to tear them down, as if nothing has changed since he left Derry. 

Richie Tozier is still a cowardly _fucking_ loser, still hopelessly and pathetically in love with his best friend and just as terrified to be found out, only this time he is also drunk on whiskey shots.

Instead of fleeing Derry a second time around like he originally planned, he finds himself in a cubicle inside a small, hole-in-the-wall tavern called The Falcon, still run by Elmer Curtie and still decorated from top to bottom with a taxidermy of birds he remembers from later high school days when most of the losers would stop by on weekends to play pool or dart and try to fool Mr. Curtie with embarrassingly fake ids in order to get to relish in the bitterness of adulthood. 

Richie is all too familiar with the taste by now, and on this evening he is well into his glasses and slurs every fifth syllable when he motions for the bartender to keep them coming. Shot after shot after shot, alternating between rum and bourbon. Mostly rum.

The sun is setting. It’s getting late. He knows he should be on his way to the library to meet up with the others but he can’t. He can’t do this. He can’t risk them finding out who he really is. How he really feels. He can however down another shot, so he does. 

_“I know your secret, your dirty little secret.“_

Richie leans down and rests his forehead against the cool lacquer of the table. “Donald Trump’s tits,” he hisses, head spinning and no closer to getting rid of the shame and self-hatred taunting him in his mind in the form of another homophobic clown than the one he's spewing, a scarier clown. “Donald Trump’s massive, fucking tits.” 

“That is quite an image,” Richie hears, and he lifts his head to find a stranger schootch in next to him on the sofa, a pint in his hand. 

The guy is tall - a few inches taller than Richie, at least - solidly built, with grey hair at the temples and something in his bearing that screams ex-military. This man is about forty-five, maybe fifty. He's in an ill-fitting coat that screams inferiority complex. The guy isn't Richie's type at all - too grave, seems boring just by looking at him.

A slightly embarrassed Richie gives him a shy smile before licking his lips and turns to reach for his latest shot but the stranger beats him to it and languidly steals the glass from him. Richie has switched to solely rum after the fifth sting of bourbon, but the man downs it with ease and hums. “A sweet tooth, have you?”

Richie raises his eyebrows at the bold effrontery of the stranger and turns and waves a hand for the bartender’s attention, knowing now that he’s probably wearing the pinched, carefully polite expression he adopts when he’s trying not to make a purposefully nasty joke at someone else’s expense, and the last thing he wants is to get involved in a bar fight on his first day back in Derry. Richie hears dry chuckling, shifting and then fingers are catching his chin and turns his head, fingertips pressing into his jaw. “So have I.”

Richie literally has no idea what is going on. He has never been approached by anyone as forward and intrusive and really cliché before, not that he had been approached much at all. Being hit on by other men is rare for him, believe it or not, and he’s not sure what to make of it really. There’s annoyance and enticement and confusion mixing ferociously with all of that liquor swimming around in his system. 

In his peripheral vision he sees the bartender arrive at his table to pour another shot, but is not giving the two men in front of him even a second of mind. There is maybe a red balloon in the corner of the pub, floating mid-air. Maybe. Richie’s so drunk. As drunk as he’s ever been, really.

“I’ve never seen you in here before. New to Derry?” The stranger asks with a smirk, fingers still holding Richie by the chin, his breath smelling distinctively of the rum shot he just stole.

“Y- You could uhm- say that.” Richie fumbles with the words and licks his dry lips again when he notice the man staring at them intensely.

“What's a pretty one like you, doing in a place like this? You waiting on someone?” Richie knows that he’s blushing, he can feel it in his ears but he’s hoping the light is dim enough to cover it. The only someone he’s waiting for is a less pathetic version of himself and that asshole has never shown up for anything in his life.

****Also… did he just call him _pretty_?

“No, I-” 

The man interrupts by pulling Richie closer to speak into his ear. “You seem a little drunk, you should stay with me. I’ll take good care of you.” The man really said “fuck subtlety” and left home all barefaced and confident this evening. Far from as boring as Richie originally thought. It makes him feel a bit jealous. He’d give anything for even ten seconds of insane bravery. He’d use all of it up on Eddie.

The mere thought of it, along with the stranger’s shameless flirting and all of that alcohol makes Richie flush prettily. The man looks delighted, probably thinking that the credit is all his. He lets go of his hold on Richie’s chin, raising his fingers to brush them across his stubbled cheek. They drift down the line of Richie’s set jaw, thumb coming up to press on his lower lip and dip into his mouth. Richie shudders and his eyes flickers closed. 

_It’s **alright**. They are hiding in a cubicle in the corner of an almost empty bar. No one can see them. No one will find out. This is **fine**_. 

The man grabs him by the wrist and pulls his hand forward, placing it over his denim clad crotch. His boner is as subtle as he is, but Richie can’t help but be flattered. He can’t also help being a little self-conscious because he’s so far out at sea and his useless self has forgotten how to fucking swim.

The man takes the helm with no warning as he licks his way into Richie’s mouth who can’t stop the low moan from escaping his throat. The kiss is possessive and hot, and the man is clutching his body tight and grinds up against his hand. Richie doesn’t stop any of it, instead he answers with equal lust because with his eyes closed, imagination is running wild. 

He’s kissing Eddie now. He can’t help scrunching his face up as he yearningly visualises it being Eddie’s lips against his, Eddie’s fingers grazing his skin, Eddie’s warmth and scent and being. He loses himself in the concept, that is, until Eddie suddenly pries Richie’s hand down his pants, down his underwear, to grab at his penis. 

But it’s not Eddie. Obviously. Eddie would never be this forceful. Richie opens his eyes to a reality he very quickly regrets. The man who is not Eddie, not even close to being Eddie, could never be Eddie, demandingly forcing his tongue further inside Richie’s mouth.

This was moving too fast. Richie pushes his free hand against the man’s chest, trying to put some space between them. The man mutters in return and bats Richie’s hand aside impatiently. Richie feels panic crawl up his throat and his eyes widen. He breaks the kiss. “W- Wait,” He stutters and tries to pry his own hand out of the man’s underwear without success, because the man is holding onto his wrist tightly. 

“Don’t be such a fucking tease… You were practically gagging for it a second ago.” The man whispers harshly against Richie’s neck, before replacing it with his lips where he bites down. His hand snakes up the fabric of Richie’s short sleeve shirt with bruising fingers, easily undoing all of the buttons, but grunts in frustration when he realizes that there is another shirt he has to get passed. He traces his lips down to Richie’s exposed collarbone, licking a stripe along the prominent bone.

“S- Stop. No.” Richie no longer wants it. He probably never did. 

He resists further, trying to pull away. The man however is stronger, which he theorized earlier, and is now sure of. He remains within the stranger’s grasp.

“Squirm all you want Richie, It'll make it _that_ much better.”

Richie stops fighting immediately. His head is spinning, did he hear it right? He’s drunk. The man couldn’t possibly know his name… right?

There’s a sudden deafening silence. There’s no longer music playing from the speakers in the bar. There’s no longer any murmurs coming from the other visitors. Just… dead silence. He looks at the man and his blood runs cold as he’s met with the most vicious expression he has ever seen on another human being.

“Should I tell him, Richie? Should I tell Eds your secret?”

An all too familiar laugh echoes throughout the bar, and further, as if it has no end. In the corner of his eye, Richie notice something that makes him want to fucking die. All of the losers are sitting by the bar in the exact same way, all looking at him with the most revolted, judgemental expressions. Bill, Mike, Beverly, Ben, Stanley and Eddie. 

Eddie… He’s sitting at the end of the bar. The dark hatred in his eyes is prominent, and it’s breaking all of Richie in every way. “You truly disgust me, Richie.” Eddie spits venomously, his facial muscles twitching in revulsion. -”I could never love someone like you.” 

Richie shuts his eyes. _It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real._

“Richie!…”

****_“Richie!... C’mon dickwad what the fuck are you doing? It’s your turn.”_

_It’s the sound of Eddie’s voice. Richie blinks his tired eyes open, takes another sip of his Lager and gets out of his seat by the bar. Bill just finishes his round as he retracts his cue stick and looks up at Richie as he approaches._

_“W-W-W-What’s going on with you?”_

_Richie has no idea what they are talking about. He lazily shrugs and looks the pool table over before leaning over it. He puts his fingers in the right position on the stick for total control and widen his stance. He then lines the pool tip up with the cue ball, huffs the many million curls out of his face, aims and strikes. He can’t help but grin as he watches two object balls sink into a pocket, putting him and Eddie in the lead._

_The bar is only playing rock this evening which Richie appreciates. The beer is less of an enjoyment and more of a formality. Adults are throwing suspicious glances at their presence every now and again, the taxidermy of birds seems like they are watching them too. When he looks up from his game Eddie is approaching him with a big, victorious smile._

_“Thank fuck that I am on your team, man!” He beams and raises his hand up for a high-five, which Richie is more than happy to reply. There’s a fuzzy feeling in his gut. There’s always a fuzzy feeling in his gut when he’s around Eddie._

_Stan arrives back from the bathroom and Bill hurries him over to the pool table. It’s his turn. Richie sits back down on his stool and picks up his beer again._

_“So… would you rather suck a dick for one million dollars or pay a million dollars to have your dick sucked one million times?” He asks and his friends all turn to him at the same time with the same arched angled eyebrows._

_"D-Dude…” Bill shakes his head but he’s smiling, so it’s all good. Stan however seems to have seen a ghost. He’s pale and is looking at Richie in horror. Eddie is wrinkling his nose._

  
_“What would you do?” Stan asks._

_“I’d rather be poor and sexually successful.” He sips at his Lager and leans back in his seat._

_”I’d suck a dick for a million dollars.” Eddie says and shrugs._

_“Maybe you can suck Richie’s dick? He seems interested?” Bill chuckles and pats Eddie on the back to forward the game. Stan is probably too traumatized by the discussion because he fucked his round and is now standing awkwardly in the corner._

_Richie can feel the lump in his throat grow. Eddie is giving Bill an ‘are you joking?’ look and it fucking hurts. He’s also terrified that this at first fun, innocent game is turning into the ‘Guess how gay Richie is’ game, and he’s not up for it._

_“I’m sure Eddie would be a champion at it, but the only set of lips around this glorious wonder is Eddie’s mom, whom I am sure he’d learn all of his tricks from.”_

_There’s silence. No laughter. Eddie looks genuinely hurt._

  
_“Shut up, just… Shut up Richie…” Eddie is turning his gaze to the floor, which is a bad sign. There’s no comeback. The joke backfired somehow. Stan looks at Richie without turning his head._

_Richie chews on his gums to keep himself from saying anything else that would make him look even more like a douchebag._

_“My mom wants me home by eight. I should get going.” Eddie mumbles eventually and puts the cue stick back on the hanger on the wall._

_“I gotta head home too.” Bill looks Richie over and it’s obvious that he’s disappointed. Richie will hear about this later, he knows it. He watches the two of them leave the bar in silence without a goodbye. The silence then lingers between Richie and Stan for a moment._

_“You know… Eddie looks up to you right?”_

_“I didn’t mean to-”_

_“I know… what you meant… what you mean. Just… be you. Pretending to be someone you’re not is only going to eventually make you lose your real you entirely, and that would be such a waste...” Richie looks directly at Stan now. He realizes that Stan gets it, maybe he got it all along. -”I like your real you alot. So would the world.”_

_Stan smiles brightly at him and-_

****Richie opens his eyes, a cluster of bravery sparks in his chest, and uses all of his might to push the man away from him. “Get off me!” He screams and immediately gets up ones the man falls back in his seat. The red balloon in the corner pops.

He gets out of the cubicle and leaves the bar behind him. He’s going to help his friends beat Pennywise ones and for all… and when all of that is over, he is going to tell Eddie how he really feels.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for 3k followers on tumblr. i don't normally write fanfiction but i wanted to give you something in return. i hope you enjoyed this little piece. it's angsty as shit but really that's just me. let me know what you think of it. 
> 
> xoxo, rosey.


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